


From May til December

by rasberryberet



Series: Fics for qdc-ana [2]
Category: Elite Beat Agents
Genre: Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Nonsexual Nudity, Sharing a Shower, age gap, sfw, showering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 21:34:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16840849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rasberryberet/pseuds/rasberryberet
Summary: Khan is an old man, but he's your old man.





	From May til December

**Author's Note:**

> **Commissioned Work**  
> Backup for qdc-ana

From May To December(Commander Kahn x Reader) SFW/Fluff  
A fluffy sequel to @qdc-anna ’s previous commission! She asked for some cute admissions of feelings and some fluff about an age gap between the reader and Commander Kahn.

Fandom: Elite Beat Agents

Pairing: Commander Khan/Reader

Words:2,539

Commission Information

You awaken to the surprising sight of your boss leaning over you and the distinct sensation of him pressing a cool damp cloth onto your forehead. Had you fainted? That could explain the sudden blackout but not the hazy memories that started to form in your mind. They were lewd enough to get your blood boiling and frantically you attempted to rationalize them. It had to be some kind of fever dream, a product of you overworking yourself and fainting while on the job but the tender way that Khan pressed the soaked cloth into your heated skin made you think otherwise,

“Ah-h Commander-?” Your voice was hoarse and strained.

He hummed for a moment, gingerly grabbing your hand in his own before replying sheepishly, a boyish little grin playing at his features,

“You had me worried there for a minute Missy! Thought I’d been too hard on you,”

The way his voice drops and octave makes your ears perk up, it wasn’t the tone of a boss to a subordinate, it was the tone of one lover to another… The reality of the situation makes you gasp aloud,

So that really happened?

“It-It was-real?-really real-?” You didn’t know who you were asking-him or yourself.

The way Khan laughs assures you that it wasn’t a dream at all, that it was all real. The realization feels like a punch to the gut but in an oddly warm, comforting way-almost like being submerged in a warm bath or swaddled in heavy blankets. Despite the groggy protests of your achy limbs you force yourself up a little so that you could give Khan a kiss, he laughs a little between your attempts. Gently but firmly pushing you back down into a laying position, you pout at him but don’t struggle and you’re rewarded with a soft open mouthed kiss as he knelt at your side,

“Just rest up a bit Honey-while I clear down,” His voice is soft and sweet and you almost cry at how familiar he sounds, “Then we can go home and talk,”

You comply without complaint, sighing and relaxing against the surprisingly comfortable pillows Khan had piled up on his couch. It’s kind of nice to see him doing all the work and clearing down for once. It makes you giggle a little at the role reversal. You start dozing off again, eyelids slipping closed as your tired body finally succumbed to the exhaustion of both the long day and the “Extracurricular Activities” you two had engaged in. You didn’t dream as you slept, your body and brain too tired to conjure anything better than the dream that had already come true.

That Commander Khan-The Commander Khan-loved you.

When you woke up you were somewhere unfamiliar, laying on something soft that contoured to the weight of your body-a mattress? You shift a little, realizing that you weren’t wearing your work clothes anymore. Your blouse, skirt, hose, and, pumps were gone, replaced with tube socks and a little silk slip. The thing was soft to the touch and a pretty lilac color that shifted in interesting patterns under the low lights in the bedroom. 

You lean up slowly, your head no longer throbbing but you still felt a little sticky and a little sore. The room was sparsely decorated, simple soft blue walls and dark highly polished oak wood furniture. The curtains on the canopy bed were a soft gauzy material that felt like nothing as you parted them to peek out at the open doorway. The smell of warm food drew your attention and you felt your stomach perk up at the idea of a good meal. You hadn’t eaten since this morning and you were eager for something filling.

Passing in front of the vanity next to the door you caught a look of yourself, subconsciously you fiddled with your hair. It seemed as if it had been brushed and braided while you were sleeping and the thought makes you feel odd and warm inside. With a light tug on your slip you tip-toed your way out into the hallway. The smell was stronger now, probably soup set on a low simmer and it drew you closer and closer to it down the long hallway, your footsteps muffled.

Khan is already in the kitchen when you shuffle in and he gets up when he catches your eye. He’s still wearing his work clothes and your heart feels funny to think that he’d taken the time to put you in comfortable pajamas. You were still a little sticky, so slowly you approached him, meaning to ask where the bath was. He hugs you close to him and you feel another wave of feelings, everything felt warm and safe and you didn’t hesitate to hug him back. He pats your head lightly,

“Made you some soup Sweetheart, then you can go bathe,”

He’s speaking to you with such a soft sort of familiarity that it makes your chest ache a little. Even though he’s still kind of grimy you can’t deny that his scent is a little comforting. You take a deep breath of him and nod, he sways you side to side in his arms for a minute, his smell mixing in with the appetizing aroma of the soup,

“But you gotta shower too Khan-” His name feels odd on your tongue and you blush when he laughs.

“I guess you’re right-” He peels you away from him and you pout a little, he taps you on the nose before he finish,”But dinner first okay Princess?”

The way he says it is a little mocking but it still makes your ears burn up a little. You wanna pout more but you can’t really find anything to pout about-so you slip into a seat. The chair creeks a little as you sit but it’s comfortable at the least. Khan has his back to you and hes spooning up some soup into two weathered bowls on the counter. You can feel your mouth watering a little at the prospect of a good meal and you smile when he turns back around-carrying both bowls in his big hands. He sets yours down first before his and you nod a little,

“Thank you it smells delicious,”

“It’s homemade you know-” 

There’s a pause as Khan pours up iced water and fetches spoon and the way his voice strains makes you feel oddly sad. It was the tone of nostalgia, his voice wistful and soft and filled with a sort of sad morose remembrance. Remembering other places and other people and other times.. Your fingers brush when he passes a delicate spoon to you, eyes meeting for just a second, a mumbled ‘Thank you’ on your lips as Khan settled himself across from you.

The soup tastes good, better than good to your parched throat and growling stomach. The warm flavorful fluid heats you up from the inside out and you can’t help the little smile that spreads on your face. Khan smiles too, it makes you want to cry-it’s so sweet to see him smile. He takes a few quiet sips of his soup, a contrast to your ravenous slurping. When you pause to take a sip of cold water-gulping noisily-Khan can’t help stifle the laugh that rumbles out of his chest.

“What?” You splutter, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious with his eyes on you.

You fiddled with your hair, pushing stray strands up behind your ears and scrubbing at the soup and water that had dribbled down your chin. Khan leans over the table, his big frame forcing you to look upwards at him. You shiver a little when he swipes his thumb against your bottom lip, eyes closing and your breath stuttering,

“You missed a spot here,”

His voice is gentle, soothing on your ears and suddenly you feel very small and very safe. The moment fizzles away in a comfortable sort of way and Khan is back at his bowl in a few quick seconds. You don’t pause again, drinking the soup straight out of the bowl, Khan joins you without protest. His slurping is just as loud as yours now and it makes you feel odd inside. 

Is this what love is like?

Khan takes care of the dinner dishes while you shuffle down the hall to the bathroom. Your heart is pounding in your chest and your fingers are numb from all the excitement. You were just in here to shower but for some reason the thought of him being here with you made you want to squeal. But you manage to tamp it down when he shuffles in behind you, towels draped over his arm and his shirt already off. Your breath catches in your throat and you blink fast, suddenly feels a crawling heat resting in your joints. Swallowing you speak up,

“Do you want me to get in first?”

He nods and shrugs, more focused on getting his belt and slacks off to really bother. You nod back, too nervous and giddy to speak, with a beat of hesitation you slip your thumbs under the shoestring-thin straps of your slip and lift them off of your shoulders. The silk slides with a quiet whoosh onto the bathroom floor to pool around your feet. You clumsily paw off your socks, having to sit back on the toilet to get the job done.

In the meantime Khan had crossed the room and was fiddling with the settings on the shower, adjusting the water temperature. He’s down to his boxers now and whatever nerves you’d had have all but melted away at this point. Everything feels familiar and routine, as if you’ve been doing this for years and years. You even get in a playful little slap on the ass when he finally drops his boxers and hops into the shower,

“Don’t think you’re gonna get away with that Missy-!” He said from within the spray of warm water.

You stick your tongue out at the blobby shape of him through the frosted glass. With a few little twists and tugs you’re free from the restraints of your underwear, it’s more than a little nice to be able to breath without the pressure of your underwire pressing in on your skin. The glass door slides open and a light steam greets you before you step into the shower. Greeted by Khan’s gentle grip on your elbow to stabilize you. The warm spray rolls over your tired muscles and you sigh pleasantly.

“Nice n warm huh?”

You nod, and Khan passes along a scrubber for you to suds yourself up with, you take it gratefully, running it over your grimy skin. You aren’t aware of him watching though, watching thoughtfully at how shy you seemed even after the kind of night you two had had. But he couldn’t blame you, there was still an air of trepidation between you two-an air of great change and emotional upheaval. He couldn’t expect you to suddenly be okay with the turn of events after being his secretary for so long. He himself was still feeling strange about everything that had gone down, especially how you’d admitted your feelings for him.

The way you’d said it-your eyes shiny and wide, your lip nervously worried between your lips. It was an image that’d probably stay with him for a long long time. It’s a little surprising to him-when you start shyly scrubbing his back for him, movements a little jerky and unsure. It makes warmth bloom out over his chest and in his heart, he can’t fight the smile that breaks out on his face or the chuckle in his throat. You stop when you hear him chuckling, silently afraid that he might be mocking you but when he speaks up you know he isn’t

“Is this to make up for slapping me before?”

You smile now, teeth showing and body flattening to embrace him from behind. You’re so tiny compared to his bulky body and you nuzzle absently at his back your voice sounding small and far away as you reply,

“Yeah-I’m sorry for being so mean”

He can hear the mock frown in your voice and he chuckles softly, you were more than forgiven in his eyes. The heat of your small body on him makes him sag and sigh, contented and relaxed by your presence. Your slippery bodies slide against each other as he twists around, his broad shoulders blocking the fall of water. The warm water still runs in gentle rivulets down his shoulders, melting away the soap residue and sliding over your fingers. His arms come around to hold you, his hands a comfortable heaviness against your lower back.

The water is catching in Khan’s eyelashes and you sigh, a soapy hand coming up to cup his jaw and pull his lips down to your level. He makes a soft sort of grunt when you kiss him. The contact makes you feel butterflies in your stomach, it’s silly but it’s a welcome sensation at the least. He seems to think so too, because he tightens his grip on you and you squeak a little. It’s nice, warm and sliding and slow but you stop it before it gets too far. Shyly pushing at his chest until he pulls away reluctantly, he pouts and rubs his thumb against your cheek,

“‘M sorry if I got a lil carried away Missy..”

The water is numbing your skin at this point and you want nothing more to be curled up in bed next to him. He gets the picture and reaches back to turn off the water, even without it on the bathroom is still hazily warm and you sigh and close your eyes to take in the sensation

Khan doesn’t wear much to bed, you aren’t surprised. He shuffles in after you, only a pair of snug boxers on-he watches you for a while in the doorway while you fold up your dirty clothes. First your skirt, than your blouse, than your undergarments, all neatly folded into a compact pile in the corner of the room. He lays down, patting at the empty space beside him and you’re quick to crawl over and lay nose-to-nose with him. You’re feeling shy again, somehow this sort of gentle-almost domestic-sort of intimacy seems more scandalous than sex.

“Now I know I’m not exactly a young man-” 

He voice sounds a little tight and subtly you reach out to loosely hold his hand, urging him to continue,

“-But I really do care for you Honey-I really do-”

You squeeze him hand as you reply, voice low and soft and emotional,

“I care about you too-I love you-”

“An old man like me?” He chuckles but the smile doesn’t meet his eyes,

“Yes-you’re an old man-” You stopped to kiss his forehead, “-And you’re my old man-”

Khan pulls you tight to him then, in a fierce, bone-crushing one-armed hug. His face buried against your neck. A warmth washes over you and you hug him back, a sense of overwhelming security and finality and peace.

He was your old man and you loved him. And it seemed that the old man loved you too.


End file.
